


Sketchpads and Oil Paintings

by snowbunnylester (xrosepetalsx)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Artists, Getting Together, M/M, danandphilsecretsanta, implied depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:46:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2884499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xrosepetalsx/pseuds/snowbunnylester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan used to be quite the artist, but his law degree has sucked the life out of him. It’s not until he takes a risk and registers for an art class that things begin to change. <b>Implied Depression</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sketchpads and Oil Paintings

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** : In no way do I pretend that this is real or cast aspersions on Dan or Phil.
> 
> Written for the [danandphilsecertsanta](http://danandphilsecretsanta.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Message to [deerpalace](http://deerpalace.tumblr.com): I went out on a limb with this fic a little, so I really hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas or Happy holiday that you celebrate, deerpalace! ^.^
> 
> Special thanks to beta [mostlikelyprocrastinating](http://mostlikelyprocrastinating.tumblr.com)!
> 
> Kudos keep me alive!

When Dan was younger, he used to go to the forest outside his house every day to hang out and get away from the rest of the world. It was his safe place, where no one bothered him, and he could be completely alone.

That’s where he learned to draw.

The trees and the rabbits were his inspiration. He’d find a nice, soft spot to sit down, and then he’d wait until the muses came. Sometimes it was a swift wait, but other times he’d go home with an empty sketchbook and a full heart.

But just sitting outside was enough for him, with his iPod on shuffle and music blasting in his ears.

On a good day, however, he’d come home with three or four drawings. They started out crappy, mainly just scribbles drawn in abused red ink. His mum still has them, hidden away in a secret drawer where Dan can’t find them and throw them away.

He imagines if he were to ever bring home a partner, his mum would pull them out just to show them off, and then she’d wait for Dan to be gone before she put them away again.

Dan’s twenty now, and stuck in a dorm room that he hates. He feels like a flower that’s wilting away without heat or rain.

He hasn’t properly drawn anything in over a year, since the last time he had a chance to visit home, and he misses it.

The muses are gone, along with his safe place, and Dan hasn’t known what to do with himself since he started this ridiculous law degree. He’s alone, with nothing but a few sketchbooks, lingering, dirty, in the corner. He flips through them, watches as he slowly gets better and better with time, then slams them shut and tosses them away in disgust.

He doesn’t have time to draw anymore. He doesn’t have any inspiration, nor anyone to encourage him. All he’s got left is a lot of self-hatred.

\--

In Spring, Dan signs himself up for an art class before he can talk himself out of it.

\--

“Good morning, class! This is Art 116, and I’ll be your instructor, Michael Hoffman…”

Dan tunes him out, one earbud in as he glances over the syllabus he’d been handed as he’d walked into the room. His heart is beating fast in his chest.

There’s a list of required materials that Dan’s half wondering how in the world he’ll be able to afford and still be able to eat this month. There’s an even shorter list on the back describing what they’ll be working on in class this semester, but Dan’s eyes skip over it in fear of scaring himself even further.

Near the bottom is a warning against plagiarism of any kind, and Dan’s heart skip’s a beat – not because he was planning on turning in someone else’s work, but because that suddenly makes this all so much more real.

Suddenly, Dan doesn’t know what he’s doing here, or why he’s allowed himself to take this course, and he can feel himself start to sweat. He looks around himself, noting that there are only 20 other students, all listening intently to their professor drone on, but there’s only one that catches his eye. 

He’s sitting in the far back, just like Dan, on a seat at the table across from Dan. His hair is black, and he’s got almost the same hair cut as Dan.

But what really catches Dan’s attention is the fact that he’s doodling on his arm in red pen, swirls and patterns making up a bright tattoo against his skin. Dan finds himself unable to look away, and for some odd reason, it calms him down.

The color reminds him of when he was a little kid, venturing out into the forest for the very first time with his schoolbag slung over his shoulders. He feels at home. He feels at peace.

The professor finishes his introduction, and lets them out early to pick up their materials. The boy Dan had been staring at finally drops his pen. Dan doesn’t have time to look away before their eyes meet.

The boy smiles at him.

And just like that, the muses are back.

\--

Dan goes all out on the materials. Who needs food?

\--

Their first assignment is a self-portrait. Dan had come into class with less of a heavy heart, but it falls at the words.

The last thing Dan wants to do is draw his own face, so he puts up his hand and asks, “Can we just do a portrait instead?”

He’s surprised at himself, but even more surprised when his professor says yes. Dan can feel eyes on his face, and ducks his head, neck flushing.

He risks a glance at the boy from the other day, hoping to catch him unawares, and has to look away when he catches him staring back. His goal for the day is to sketch the boy’s face, so he pulls out his materials and positions himself so that he can surreptitiously stare at his muse.

He isn’t going to lie; he’s attracted to the boy, and he’d rather draw a portrait of his face than his own.

The medium is charcoal, and Dan’s looking forward to getting his hands dirty. He opens up his new sketchpad and gets to work.

\--

There are smears of black on his face, he knows. He kept touching his face, self-conscious because he’d noticed the cute boy he’d been sketching was looking at him too.

He thinks his piece came out well. Their professor came around a few times, lingering by people’s sides, and Dan found himself proud when he received a pat on the shoulder and a “Good job.”

No one had told him he’d done a good job in years.

Dan’s only complaint is that there’s no color in the piece he’d drawn, because he knows it would have been even more beautiful with it. The boy was full of color, and looked dull on the page in only black and white.

Looking at him, even from a distance, all Dan is able to see is how bright the boy is. All he can see is how his eyes sparkle, almost grey-blue from a distance, but with green and yellow flecks highlighting his eyes. All he can see is how pink his mouth is, slightly upturned at one corner, either subconsciously or naturally, Dan isn’t sure. All Dan can see is how his dark hair contrasts against his pale skin, and how light his eyebrows are in comparison.

All Dan can see is raw beauty, like the trees in his forest at Winter, and he wants to draw the boy again.

\--

Two weeks in, and Dan has already drawn 4 charcoal sketches of Phil’s face. He thinks his professor has figured out _who_ he’s drawing, as he occasionally receives odd looks, but he doesn’t care. He hasn’t felt this alive in _years_ , and it’s all thanks to the nameless stranger sat across from him every day.

His hands feel permanently covered in charcoal. His other professors have begun complaining about black stains on his assignments. His head is in the clouds and he doesn’t notice.

They move on to water color and nature, but Dan continues to sit facing towards his muse. He finds subtle ways to bring the boy to life in his portraits of sunsets and forests, adding bits of color where they don’t really belong just to remind himself that the boy is there. His heart beat picks up each time he looks up to find him staring, and his neck flushes, but he never really considers what that might mean.

Instead, Dan just keeps painting, and when he goes home, he paints some more.

Eventually, he cracks open the oil paints even though they aren’t on that section yet. At 3 in the morning, when he’s supposed to be working on a term paper due at 9am, he finishes his colored portrait of the boy’s face, and feels at peace.

He drops off to sleep and never turns in that term paper.

\--

Half way through the semester, the boy sits down at Dan’s table instead of the one across from him. They don’t talk, but the boy smiles at Dan every so often, and Dan can feel his heart racing.

\--

There’s only a month left in the semester, and Dan can feel his comfort slipping away. There’s a tightness in his chest because he knows the end is almost near. His parents have already called him multiple times to yell at him for even signing up for the art class, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get away with it again.

His grades are slipping. He’s nearing a point where he’s going to lose his scholarship, but he practically doesn’t care. All he cares about is losing his muse again as he works frantically with his colored pencils on a sketch of a butterfly.

Their professor clears his throat. Dan looks up.

“The semester is almost over, so it’s time to reveal your final projects. You’ll be working with a partner on this one, combining your talents to create something out of this world!” The professor’s voice is cheery as he says this, but Dan’s heart is racing at his words.

“You’ll each be picking a medium you’re most comfortable with, but which will mesh together well to form your final piece. You can do anything, so long as you both create something to turn in together. You can do a compare and contrast piece on another artist’s work, each creating your own interpretations, or you can both create half of a piece and stick it together in the end! The world is your oyster, now get to work!”

The whole class starts to move, but Dan doesn’t. He’s frozen to the spot, mind racing in fear.

Suddenly the boy is next to him, and Dan looks up.

“Hi, I’m Phil,” he says, and then he smiles, hand outstretched in an invitation to shake it, but all Dan can think is _I’m going to be working with my muse._

\--

Phil’s forte, as it turns out, is charcoal, while Dan enjoys oil more. They decide Phil can do the black and white version, while Dan does the color.

Phil, now that they’ve been introduced, turns out to be the talkative one, while Dan is quiet, but Dan doesn’t mind. Eventually, Phil even manages to draw Dan out a little bit. He expresses an interest in visiting a forest, to draw the wildlife, and Phil smiles.

“Okay,” he says, and then they’re back to sketching for the rest of the class period.

Dan decides he likes doing art when Phil is around. The constant chatter makes him feel calm, and he finds himself smiling often. He doesn’t think it’s in his imagination that Phil looks pleased with himself when he does.

For a moment, Dan even forgets to remember that the semester is almost over.

\--

Somehow, they’ve agreed to meet up during one of Dan’s other classes, but he conveniently allows himself to forget about that. His hands are shaking as he makes the drive to the wildlife enclosure Phil had been telling him about, and he parks without ever actually taking it in.

Phil is beside his door before he’s even turned the engine off, wide smile on his face as he gestures behind him like he’s waiting for Dan’s approval. Dan’s eyes finally scan the dark green of the tree line, and his whole face lights up.

Phil’s grin is giddy in return.

\--

They’re sat ridiculously close together. Phil’s thigh is warm against Dan’s.

They keep sneaking looks at each other, and Phil always smiles while Dan ducks his head when their gazes lock.

The first day, Dan doesn’t get anything done.

\--

They don’t technically have to show up together every time. They’ve picked a place, sat on a log in the middle of the enclosure, and they’ve picked a view. They know exactly what each other is doing, and yet they never fail to line up their schedules to show up at the exact same time.

Phil’s thigh continues to be warm against Dan’s.

Dan continues to fail to let Phil know that he’s missing out on other classes to come out with him.

\--

Its two weeks out when it happens. Dan’s in the middle of leaning over to dip his brush in pale blue when his sketchpad tumbles out of his lap. The pages flip, towards the front, towards his first few failed attempts at charcoal sketches of Phil’s face, and all Dan can do is stare, horrified, as it lands, face up, on the very first one.

Dan would be scrambling to pick it up if he didn’t know Phil had already seen.

They’re both quiet.

“Is that…me?” Phil finally asks, and Dan can only nod his head in shame.

“Wow…no one’s ever drawn me before,” he continues, awe in his voice, and Dan’s head shoots up in surprise.

Phil is smiling at him, the way he’s always smiling at Dan, and Dan’s heart flutters.

“Thank you,” he says. Dan nods his head.

“You’re welcome…” he mumbles, and then he picks up his sketchpad from off of the ground. He flips quickly to his unfinished final project, and ducks his head, refusing to look at Phil again even though he can feel the other boy staring.

4 o’clock approaches agonizingly slowly. Phil keeps turning his gaze onto Dan, but Dan can’t bear to look up at him. His neck is flushed a deep red.

He packs up his stuff slowly, even though he still finds himself wanting to bolt, when it’s finally time to leave, but as he’s walking away, a hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Dan, can I show you something?” Phil asks, and Dan turns slowly.

“Okay,” he whispers, and he can feel Phil smiling at him.

“Okay, one second. Don’t go anywhere!” Phil says sternly, and then he’s rushing back to his own abandoned sketchpad that he flips through quickly.

Only a moment later, he’s back, sketchpad pressed to his chest protectively.

“Don’t laugh, okay?” he says, and Dan nod’s in acquiesce.

Then Phil is turning the sketchpad for Dan to see, and Dan’s eyes bug wide at what he finds there.

It’s a portrait of his face from literally 3 months ago. He looks haggard, and tired, even in the sketch, but it’s doubtlessly still incredibly beautiful.

His heart is racing, and it’s so loud he can hear it in his ears. Phil is waiting expectantly for Dan’s reaction, but Dan can’t give it to him. Instead, he bolts, sketchpad tucked protectively under his arm and bag slung over his shoulder.

He doesn’t think he’s ever run that fast, and a part of him really hates himself for it.

\--

He doesn’t show up to class the next session, and he’s not entirely sure why.

\--

It takes Dan two days to realize he’d known Phil was drawing him all along. It takes Dan two more days to figure out why it upsets him so much that his crush has been drawing him all semester the same way Dan has been drawing his crush.

The reality of seeing himself, drawn the way he’d been feeling inside, scares him. Phil had seen right through him, and Dan doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get over how well the charcoal had captured the turbulence inside.

He finally returns to class, and he knows Phil had been worried by the way his face sags in relief when Dan walks through the door.

He shares with Phil his first tentative smile, and he watches the surprise flicker on his face before he smiles back.

They get to work on their projects, and Dan can see that Phil is much further along.

He opens his mouth to speak before he can change his mind, and smiles to himself when Phil jumps in surprise.

“Same time as usual, today?”

“Yeah, of course,” he replies.

\--

Dan shows up first this time, but he doesn’t mind. He sets out his paints and settles down, aware that at this point, neither of them really needs to be here to paint the scene.

Phil shows up twenty minutes later, huffing and trying to catch his breath when he finally settles down besides Dan. Their thighs are pressed together, just like always, and Dan feels at home.

“Are you alright?” he asks, and for the first time in a long time, his voice doesn’t sound shy. It’s confident and cocky, the way it used to be, and this visibly shocks Phil.

“Yeah. I’m fine. I ran here because I knew I was going to be late. Didn’t want you to think I’d stood you up,” he says.

“It’s not like this is a date or anything, Phil,” Dan teases, and he’s smiling his first real smile in a very long time. Phil stares at him, mouth agape, so Dan goes back to painting.

There’s a half smirk still on his mouth, and Dan doesn’t think it’ll be going away anytime soon.

“Maybe I want it to be,” he hears Phil finally mumble, and Dan’s eyes go wide and his hand stills in the middle of his brush stroke.

They’re both holding their breath.

Dan goes back to painting.

\--

They’re walking in silence back to their cars, bags slung over their shoulders and sketchpads tucked under their arms.

Dan can feel Phil’s eyes piercing the side of his face, but he doesn’t say anything. They keep walking.

Finally, when Dan reaches the door of his car, he turns to Phil and says, “Come with me.”

Phil complies, walking over cautiously, face puzzled, but clearly excited at the same time. They dump their bags in the backseat of Dan’s car, and then they’re off.

Dan’s heart is racing at the thought of what he’s about to do, but he doesn’t care. His hands are sweating at the prospect of Phil’s reaction, but he doesn’t care. The radio is off and they’re sitting in silence, but it doesn’t matter.

They make it back to Dan’s dorm building in record time, and then Dan is grabbing his stuff and leading Phil to his room. They’re walking close together, shoulders brushing, but Dan is determined not to pull away. Phil doesn’t say anything.

Finally, they reach Dan’s room, and he puts the key in the lock as quickly as possible because he suddenly just wants to get this over with. His door swings open, and he waves Phil inside, holding his breath because he’s got nothing left to lose.

There’s a quiet gasp that Dan imagines sounds pleased, and then he’s following after Phil and standing quietly behind him. They both stare at the far wall of Dan’s room where Dan has plastered up the oil painting portrait of Phil’s face he’d done at 3 in the morning half way through the semester.

Phil turns to him, smile wide and bright, and all Dan can think is _I hope he likes me too._

“Holy…it’s amazing Dan,” Phil finally says. “Why?” he asks.

“Because you’re my muse,” Dan responds softly, dropping his bag on the floor behind him and untucking his sketchpad from under his arm to pass over to Phil. Phil takes it reverently, and looks at Dan with questioning eyes to make sure he’s okay with this. Dan nods his head.

Phil’s fingers are light on the pages as he flips through slowly, taking in the many sketches of his own face that Dan had drawn. His eyes are suspiciously watery as he makes his way through, finally flipping to the back where Dan had free drawn with his pencil in the middle of the night.

There are studies of Phil’s profile and even of his hands, and Dan’s just praying that Phil doesn’t get creeped out by it. His heart is racing the same way it has been all semester, but this time, he’s seeking approval.

Phil looks up, and he’s smiling. Dan takes the sketchpad from him, and places it gently on his bed.

They move closer together, Phil with cautious eyes, and Dan with resolve. Gently, Dan reaches out and tucks his hand against Phil’s cheek, watching as Phil’s eyes flutter closed and his mouth opens minutely. Dan smiles to himself, and then he leans forward and kisses him.

Their lips move softly together, and a wave of heat trails down Dan’s arms. He shivers when Phil’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, and he can’t help the soft sigh of pleasure when they pull away.

“I really like you, Phil,” Dan says.

“I really like you too, Dan,” Phil responds.

They smile.

\--

Dan has this feeling, deep down in his chest, that next semester is going to be a great one.

\--


End file.
